


A Pox on Plaid

by turps



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:24:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt Gerard/Mikey, angry sex, at bandom_meme</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pox on Plaid

**Author's Note:**

> The interview mentioned is [this](http://youtu.be/D4lklG_w1dM) interview.

The stupid thing is, Gerard should know better after all of this time.

He’s not some newbie with stars in his eyes and a sense of self belief untouched by the business. He’s done this for years now -- a lifetime that has resulted in scars both self-inflicted and not -- has built up the thickness of his skin until the words never hurt.

Except, that’s a lie. Sometimes they do hurt. Sometimes they dig in and take hold, burrowing deep as Gerard picks over meanings and perceived slights. Or the fact that, even now, some people don’t get them -- don’t get their music.

It’s annoying, but usually Gerard can deal. Unless it’s moments like now, when he’s tired, hungry, and most of all, missing his daughter and wife. As combination go, it’s one of the worst, and it’s feeding Gerard’s annoyance as he remembers the interview from earlier today, the one with the inane questions that made him want to stand up and walk.

Not that Gerard would -- he knows better than that -- but he wanted to, and Mikey knew it.

It’s why he answered questions along with Gerard, defusing and elaborating where Gerard wouldn’t until, finally, they could end the interview and leave.

It’s why Mikey keeps glancing at Gerard now, gauging his mood as they walk the hallway to their hotel room, and the privacy that Gerard so badly needs.

It’s why he takes hold of Gerard’s arm, fingers tight and says, “Don’t.”

“Fucking Glee. What the _fuck?_ ” Gerard checks room numbers and swipes the keycard with his free hand, never looking up as he opens the door to their room. “They could ask about the lyrics or the album, but no, they ask about fucking Glee.”

“They don’t always,” Mikey says, reasonable in a way that makes Gerard bristle. Unwarranted he knows, but that doesn’t help right now, when anger simmers, something lodged deep in his belly and chest.

“We’re not a show choir.” Inside now, Gerard pulls out of Mikey’s grasp and goes into the main room, where already their luggage is waiting. “We don’t dance on stage.”

“You kind of do,” Mikey says, meeting Gerard’s stare when he turns back and glares. “You did tonight. I thought you were about to launch into a tap routine during Teenagers.”

“But I didn’t,” Gerard snaps back. Deliberately, he uncurls his hands out of tight fists and takes a deep breath, voice low as he adds, “I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin.”

Mikey waits a moment, then asks, “Like The Hulk?”

Gerard considers, trying for coherent thoughts as he shakes his head and eventually says, “No. Like The Flame.”

It’s the best comparison Gerard can make, how inside he feels white hot, anger there in a way that usually it isn’t. Gerard can feel it now, and knows he’s close to the edge, where one wrong move, one wrong word will push him right over.

“It’s all bullshit,” Gerard says, kicking out at a case as he walks to the window and back, too keyed up to stop moving. “Meaningless fucking bullshit.”

Mikey makes no comment at first, just stands watching then, walks a couple of steps forward, deliberately stopping in front of Gerard. “Lumberjacks can sing our songs, too.”

“Fuck lumberjacks.” Gerard keeps his hands at his side, fighting the urge to push Mikey away. “Fuck everything.”

Again, Mikey says nothing, but his response is there in the way that he’s standing, body pressed against Gerard’s, still and steady and head tilted slightly to one side. For a moment Gerard wants to laugh that Mikey knows him so well, but any amusement is buried by the need to do something, Gerard’s whole body aching as he fights for clarity and manages to say, “I’ll be okay by tomorrow.”

Mikey remains still, says simply, “I know.”

It’s a whole conversation said in two words, and for anyone else, it wouldn’t be enough -- nowhere near enough. But this is Mikey, and the words aren’t needed, when Gerard’s well aware that the offer Mikey’s making is for himself as well as Gerard.

“Okay,” Gerard says, and again, “Okay,” his hands twitching as he gives up the fight, letting the anger that’s been building all day roar to the surface. It feels like every nerve ending is raw, heat building as Gerard takes hold of Mikey, gripping his arms as he turns them both in a tight circle and pushes so Mikey takes a stumbling step back, his legs hitting the side of the bed.

Off-balance, Mikey falls back, feet on the floor and his knees falling open when Gerard loosens his hold and stays standing, needing to look. It’s nothing that’s going to last long, the urge to move already building, but Gerard snatches this moment. When he can look down at Mikey and know, despite how the rest of the world shifts around him, Mikey is there always.

It’s something Gerard holds close, and he loves the way Mikey looks now -- sprawled out, limbs loose and hair messy, no hint of a smile as he looks up at Gerard.

Haste makes Gerard’s movements clumsy as he plants one knee on the bed, straddling Mikey’s thigh and leans forward, hands braced on the generic beige covers. It’s not a comfortable position, Gerard feels like he could slip any moment, but he makes no attempt to move. Instead he remains still, hair falling in a cascade of red and face close to Mikey’s, enough that he can feel Mikey’s breath.

“I hate choir singing lumberjacks,” Gerard says, moving in closer, his mouth brushing Mikey’s.

“I know,” Mikey says, and Gerard feels as well as hears the words, the barest tickle of sensation that makes him shiver, then gulp when Mikey brings up his legs, crossing then behind Gerard’s ass.

It’s a move that pushes Gerard forward, his body pressed against Mikey’s, so close he can hear Mikey swallow, feel how he’s shifting under Gerard, obviously uncomfortable but still wanting more. And he’ll get it, but not now.

Now is for fast only, a release of pressure as Gerard uses his foot on the floor as leverage, pushing down against Mikey. It’s about Gerard finally being able to let go, the annoyances he’s been holding finally gaining release. It’s about movements so small they shouldn’t matter -- but they do. Gerard feels every one, the drag of exposed skin over Mikey’s belt buckle, the feel of Mikey’s hands against Gerard’s back, holding on, trapping Gerard in place.

Each tiny shift is intensified, Gerard’s breathing harsh, his cheeks flushed as he makes no attempt to hold back. Gerard wants to share Mikey’s breath, push against him, become one and let sensation crash over them both.

And Gerard’s close, so close to that moment when finally, he can give up complete control.

Again, Mikey knows. Eyes bright, and mouth slightly open, he takes a deep breath and turns his head to the side, says, “Do it.”

Instantly, Gerard moves, imagines flames licking his skin, burning impossibly bright as he nuzzles against Mikey’s neck, licking and marking, before opening his mouth, the flames peaking at an inferno as Gerard bites down: hard.

He keeps biting as Mikey arches beneath him, responding in the way Gerard loves so much, gasping as Gerard swaps biting for sucking, creating a bruise that will linger for days.

Reluctantly, Gerard pulls back after a few moments, lies still and spent, shivering as Mikey drops his legs and runs his hand over Gerard’s sweat-damp back and says, “You’re crushing me.”

It’s not what Gerard was expecting, except, no. It’s exactly what he was expecting and wanted to hear. There’s no need for Mikey to ask if Gerard is okay, or to attempt some post-frottage biting small talk. They’re not about that. They don’t need that, especially when Mikey rolls, making Gerard fall with a thump on his side.

Side by side, face to face, they lie still, Gerard luxuriating in feeling so calm as he says, “I still hate singing lumberjacks.”

Mikey laughs, and simply says, “Noted.”


End file.
